


Special Delivery

by stephanericher



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance is the world's worst pizza boy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Delivery

The song on the radio ends and Lance tunes out the nasally whine of the DJ, still tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. How long’s this red light going to last? Can he get away with turning right? What if the person right next to him is an undercover cop? He flicks his gaze left; the driver of the white Subaru is reapplying her lipstick. Probably not a cop, but you can never be too sure. And then the light changes.

Lance slams on the gas; the radio goes to commercial.

“In one-point-eight miles, turn left,” the GPS says.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance mutters, wondering if he should just turn it off and then back on again after he follows that.

He leans ahead; the lane next to him is empty and he checks the mirror. A red car is coming toward him, still too far away to tell what it is. Lance lowers his foot on the gas; he’s not going to let that person pass him. He zooms past a speed limit sign for 55; he’s easily twenty over and maybe that’s too much but that other car’s going at least five more than that because it’s still gaining on him. Up ahead, the light turns yellow and he slams the brakes; the pizza box on the passenger’s seat pitches forward into the glove compartment.

The red car passes him, and he only gets a moment to see the car top sign and the familiar logo of Red Lion pizza, and the face of a very particular delivery guy. The red car blows through the intersection; Lance is about to speed up again but the light turns red and he stops just at the line. Well, fuck.

He and Keith have had this thing, this rivalry, since he’d first started delivering pizzas. Well, okay, maybe Keith doesn’t totally know about it, but it’s still very legitimate. When Lance had started out, he’d gotten lost a few times (with no help from the GPS) and he’d been maybe a little later than usual arriving with deliveries. And every time that had happened, the customers would mention how they’d been disappointed that it wasn’t that stupid Keith (well, they hadn’t said stupid) delivering their stupid pizzas because he was always so quick and efficient and they’d put a little bit of that tip money back into their pockets. And Keith had still been there, still delivering pizzas to glowing reviews, and then one day he’d quit. And Lance had thought he’d be rid of Keith forever, except then all of a sudden Keith had shown up delivering pizzas again, only this time it was for Red Lion. He’d drive all over the area in that stupid car, and just thinking about it makes Lance grip the steering wheel hard enough that he thinks he might actually break it.

The light turns green and he takes off. Keith couldn’t have gotten farther than the next light, and they’re nearing a town split by the highway where there’s one every block, and sure enough the red car’s up ahead, and Lance is not going to let him get there first. Not without doing his damn best. He ignores the reduced speed limit and revs up, whispering to the car to come on baby, don’t let me down this time, and he’s gaining. Not much, but he is.

The lights end and the highway stretches out; traffic’s thin and Lance moves into the left lane (a car behind him honks and he ignores it; he doesn’t have time for that stuff). The radio should be playing something way more appropriate to the situation, like that song from _Rocky_ , but a half-decent backbeat and some autotuned voice will just have to do for now.

“Turn left,” says the GPS.

The light is green and Keith is straight ahead; Lance doesn’t even reach for the turn signal.

“Recalculating. Turn left at the next intersection.”

He doesn’t have time for GPS or customers’ houses right now when he should be beating Keith. He’s still gaining, slowly but surely; he’ll get there but only if there’s time to gain the rest. Maybe Keith can see him in the side mirrors; maybe he’s doing a double-take because he’d overconfidently assumed that he’d left Lance in the dust. He’d better be thinking again. Lance grins.

“Recalculating. Turn left—”

Lance punches the mute button on the GPS and plunges his foot down. And then Keith makes a right turn. Lance swears under his breath, checking his blind spot and swerving into the next lane, belatedly flicking on the turn signal before switching again. The light turns yellow as Lance swings the steering wheel and plants his wheels in the intersection; he just catches Keith pulling onto the exit ramp up ahead.

He’s parking in the driveway of a McMansion by the time Lance catches up, but he’s not getting out yet and damned if Lance won’t cut a few seconds out of the way to beat him. He grabs the pizza from the seat and leaves his car double-parked on the sidewalk, and he’s running straight toward the door by the time Keith’s pulling his own insulated bag out of his trunk. Score. Keith gives him a funny look and Lance waves as he slows to a jog and rings the doorbell. The door opens a few seconds later and standing there is the girl of his dreams, tall with hair that flows like a waterfall and gorgeous eyes Lance definitely feels like getting lost in.

And then she squints at him. “I thought I’d ordered from Red Lion?”

“You did,” says a voice behind him. “Allura? One pizza with extra cheese, spinach and pepper?”

“Well,” says Lance, leaning on the doorframe to block Keith, “Since I got here faster and since you’re so beautiful, I think you deserve this pizza.”

“Is this a promotion?” says Allura.

“Um, excuse me,” says Keith.

“Excuse me,” says Lance, and finally Allura takes the pizza. “I’m afraid Allura here prefers my pizza. Sorry Keith, nothing personal.”

Keith gives him a funny look. “Do I know you?”

Lance opens his mouth to retort when he feels the weight of the warm pizza box pressed back into his hands.

“I’m a vegetarian,” says Allura. “I can’t eat a pizza with sausage.”

“Uh,” says Lance, and he’s about to think of something witty when Keith reaches over his arms and places his pizza box neatly in Allura’s arms.

“I’m so sorry about this,” says Lance. “If you say something on our website, they’ll give you a discount on your next order.”

“That’s quite alright,” says Allura, and she hands Keith a large stack of bills. “Thank you.”

And then the door shuts, right in Lance’s face, before he can finish his sentence.

“Well,” says Keith. “You’d better get that pizza to your actual customer before it gets cold. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make my job harder by not doing yours.”

Lance’s jaw drops like a flowerpot pushed out of a twenty-story building and he sputters; Keith is already turning and walking back toward his car.

“You…you…stupid person!”

“I’m not the one hitting on other people’s customers,” Keith says, without even bothering to turn around.

By the time Lance has gotten his car to start, Keith’s long gone and there’s no way to tell what direction he went or if he’d even taken the highway back. Damn it. Well, there’s still this stupid sausage pizza to deliver, and maybe he’ll make a good tip. Lance tries his best to follow the smug voice of the unmuted GPS to the home of whoever who just had to order a pizza with meat. It’s awfully far, and a couple of times the GPS gets him lost, but it’s not yet dark out when he reaches his destination.

He rings the doorbell, pizza box tucked under his arm. It’s still lukewarm, too (not bad for the length of the journey). The door opens almost immediately, as if someone’s been waiting two steps away, and Lance puts on his most winning smile.

The person on the other side might not be too impressed, judging from the glare magnified through thick oversize glasses and the crossed arms (no less malevolent coming from someone this short).

“I ordered this pizza two hours ago. The tracker said it was on its way after twenty minutes. I called twice and they said you’d already left.”

“Well, you live kind of out of the way,” says Lance, scratching his head. “But hey, your pizza’s finally here.”

He hands over the box, and it almost opens upside-down; the pizza barely stays inside and the customer swears—the only thing that keeps the pizza from falling out is the cheese and toppings, stuck to the bottom (or is it technically the top?) of the box. Lance gives a nervous laugh as the customer slaps two bills into his hand.

“Well—”

“Whatever. I’m ordering from somewhere else next time.”

“What—?”

And again the door slams in Lance’s face, only this time he’s alone. He looks at the bills, a ten and a five. So after taxes and delivery fee, that comes to a tip of…twelve cents. Well, maybe that customer won’t order from Red Lion next time at least (and that stupid smug Keith won’t be their delivery boy)—or maybe they will and they’ll come crawling back after being unable to deal with Keith.

The drive back to work is lonely, and work itself is even worse after his boss chews him out. At least he still has a job at the end of the night, even if he’s been delivering pizzas to grumpy, stingy customers for six hours. Maybe there’s a movie on TV tonight, and maybe his roommate cooked another fantastic dinner. Except when he gets back, Keith’s car is parked outside his building in his usual spot (and yeah, the one next to it is open but that makes it even worse). Lance slams his car door on the way out and stomps in the door and up the stairs; and there down the hall on the second floor, is Keith, just about to ring his doorbell.

“What the hell? Stop following me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Keith. “I’m delivering a pizza.”

He rings Lance’s doorbell. Lance rolls his eyes, but by the time he’s reached his own door it’s already open.

“Hey, Lance! I thought for sure you’d beat the pizza,” says Hunk.

“Ha, ha,” says Lance, pushing his way in past Hunk.

“Thanks, man, you did a really good job,” Hunk is saying to Keith and Lance wants to turn around and yell that he would totally have beaten him if he’d even known it was a race this time, and he’d won when they were actually delivering pizzas, okay?

The door shuts.

“Hey, want any pizza?”

“I’m not hungry,” says Lance, and he flops onto the couch.

He’s too annoyed to even turn on the television. Stupid Keith, always having to get the last laugh. Hunk sits beside him and puts the pizza box on the table; the smell of fresh cheese and pepperoni and vegetables wafts into Lance’s nose.

“You know, it’s really good,” says Hunk. “You sure you don’t want any?”

Lance buries his face in a cushion and groans.


End file.
